


Menswear

by carrieonmywaywardson



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fix-It, M/M, Making Up, Merlin is a sassy guyfriend, Reunions, Roxy is a BAMF as always, Survivor Guilt, Swearing, did i mention i fucking love italics???, my whole life consists of waiting for sequels, the author's up and down writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3659571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieonmywaywardson/pseuds/carrieonmywaywardson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a man sitting in Harry's armchair reading Eggsy's 200th anniversary edition of Pride and Prejudice, sipping from Eggsy's favorite mug with a plaid flannel tucked over his legs.</p><p>He looks a <i>lot</i> like Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Menswear

**Author's Note:**

> Dude. I don't own anything. Do you realize that I would never be able to look the comic artists in the eye, like, _ever?_
> 
> (Title from a The 1975 song.)

He'd better not be searching up the wrong alley. The walls are full of bad graffiti and the curbs smell like piss, typical. He steps over a pile of barf. London is fucking filthy. But not like he hasn't seen worse.

Almost a year in already and he still hates scouting, _fuck him._

He thinks he'll never be as good as Roxy, but that's probably just him. Merlin's quite fine with his ways, as far as he can tell, only sometimes he - quote from eavesdropped conversation (what? It's good practice) - "isn't fully capable of what this line of work requires him to do, and I understand". So, basically, he's not evil enough for this job. Just yet. So he does what he's told. The easy stuff. He supposes he'll learn.

He rounds a corner and almost collides headfirst with a random couple intesively snogging. Fucking ew. They smell like booze. _Moving on._

The briefing didn't conclude up to much more than "abrupt disappearance of four women and two men in a week's span" and it needs him to "investigate the surrounding areas" (vague enough), which is just around this seedy old night club that he has no idea how, after all the time it's been holding itself up, hasn't run out of business.

Something going on already: a muffled shriek somewhere inside the building, way too many people for three in the afternoon, trailer tire tracks (tire tracks, how cliche, and also who the _fuck_ comes to town in a trailer these days, honestly) in the mud; these are far too narrow passages for regular parking. There's a group of (definitely armed, his glasses detect) burly blokes clearly heading towards his way. Welp. Should've been more discreet. He hasn't thought to be careful, hasn't even set foot here for more than, like, five minutes. Okay, maybe his sneaking was a bit obvious. At least his glasses are tinted. "Hey, kid!"

He considers strolling up and stopping to chat, internally questions if it's included in his assignment, and does it anyways. "Somethin' wrong, fellas?"

The man points accusingly in his face. "Our guys saw you walkin' up and down the place," ah, Americans, _not again,_ "so you better not be snooping around, you hear me? Or do you need to be escorted inside?"

Eggsy frowns. "I ain't snooping round one bit. Was going to pick up me mum, see. She was a tad sick last night, wretchin' all over the place." He grimaces purely from the thought, right on cue. "Figures she ought to call it quits, get out early, maybe get tested or somethin'."

There's another faint shriek inside, promptly cut off. Eggsy tries not to notice. The man regards him up and down in spades for a total of twelve long, agonizing seconds, and he starts fidgeting. Anyone would. If anything, Eggsy thinks he's sizing him up. _Oh wait._

He was kind of expecting a punch, but instead the man yanks his glasses off so suddenly Eggsy jumps, _not ye_ _t_ _,_ and bares his teeth. "Then we better take you to see her, hm?"

Exasperated, Eggsy reaches to tug it back in place, but before he gets the chance bloody wanker snags his wrist and makes some sort of gesture, and the rest of the gang move forward, Eggsy presumes, to grab him. Eggsy thinks he has a solid guess on the situation, but first things first, barging in and kicking it isn't included in his task. Not now.

A punch to the inner arm, twist, duck and sprint, and he's gone. At least Merlin gets identity footage.

-

"So, any findings?"

Eggsy practically breathes in his scotch, definitely edible this time round, and tamps down the need for a smoke. He can't stop thinking about the first glass he had in this room. "No, not really."

"All seems a bit pointless," Merlin rubs his elbow patches, watching the feed from Eggsy's glasses. "We're not even sure where our assignments come from as of now." Eggsy's starting to slouch. He's sort of inclined to agree with Merlin, the council really looks like it's falling apart. They're getting less and less official by the month. He's just passing time while Roxy cleans up the last of Valentine's scheme. If Percival does turn up, they'll figure this out later. None of their team really give two shits about formality nowadays, given Merlin wasn't one of the posh squad anyways, he's the tech guy (but not just the tech guy, never just the tech guy), and the rest ain't look like they're sticking around to take Arthur's place, and Harry isn't -

Harry would've been Arthur. Harry should've been here.

"If I may give a comment, Merlin," Eggsy pipes up, and briefly thinks of finding out Merlin's name, his _real_ name, because they're past that now. All of them.

Merlin stifles a yawn. "Go right ahead."

"It seems like some sort of human trafficking. Sex trafficking."

"Have you any means to find out?"

"I may or may have not pretended to drunkly stumble past the pub on my way out and smack that tiny camera you were so knocked up about on the wall."

"I should've known," Merlin mutters, and looks so _done_ Eggsy's almost sorry for snatching it off his desk. "I must admire your zeal for exertion, although I'm having doubts about whether the darn thing actually functions properly," says Merlin. "If I may add, you two have been rather saucy for your time served in the field." Ah, speaking of, he wonders how Roxy's doing. Probably blowing shit up in a glam dress trying not to get it bled on. Poor thing.

"Doesn't look like their facial scan's getting done anytime soon; something might be up with these men. I'll have to do some research myself." Merlin takes off his glasses and polishes the lenses with a piece of tissue. "There's nothing more to do than wait, Eggsy. You're... dismissed?"

"A'ight then. Check on Roxy, will you?"

"Negative, she's fine."

"How d' you know?"

"Considering I've been listening in the whole time we've been here - "

"No kidding!" Eggsy bounces on his toes, posture forgetten, excited. "Tell her I said hi!"

Merlin taps his tablet. "Lancelot, what's your status?" His eyes go wide for a second. "Huh. Alright. Eggsy says hi. Report back." Eggsy waves frantically, as though Roxy could see him. He's proud of her. He doesn't even put up with his own problems; some friend he is.

To be honest, he doesn't want anything to do with it anymore.

"Eggsy?"

"Yeah, yeah. Guess I'll be off. See you round, Merlin."

Merlin eyes him warily. "Take care, Eggsy."

He goes home.

-

He lives alone now. It's too dangerous for his mum and his little lass, and besides, he visits them practically every other day.

He lets himself in, touches the medal he frames on his wall. It keeps him grounded.

There's still too much of Harry in this empty house, and at the same time achingly none of him at all.

Some days he'll dress up nice, get into town, down a couple rounds of drinks, then a couple more, and drag himself home. If he gets immensely wasted he might get shagged. It's a routine too frequent for his liking.

He can't quite bring himself to be gentlemanly these days.

He scrubs at the weariness under his eyes with expensive soap, puts Edith Piaf and James Taylor on the gramophone, dwindles one of the few vintage 1920 bottles left, bit by bit. It's all _Harry's._

And Harry's not here.

-

_N_ _e me quitte pas, mon cher,_

_ne me quitte pa_ _s_

-

At two in the morning he tosses and turns and wakes up _again_ , feeling hollow... and aware.

He reaches for his gun under the bedframe, inches his way down the hallway, down the steps, into the - _holy fucking shit._

There's a man sitting in Harry's armchair reading Eggsy's 200th anniversary edition of Pride and Prejudice, sipping from Eggsy's favorite mug with a plaid flannel tucked over his legs.

He looks a lot like Harry.

Harry starts and looks more panicked than Eggsy had ever seen in their time together. Harry didn't panic, then. It won't change now, because he's not here. "Eggsy."

This is undoubtedly the best, worst and realest thing Eggsy's slept through in a while. The brain is a marvellous thing.

Harry abruptly gets up while saying "I wasn't expecting you to wake up until this morning, oh God, I've only just returned and I thought I'd settle in and wait and - " and Harry's getting up and folding the blanket and talks on and on about how this is all his fault it's all ruined and how he's so terribly sorry about all the upset he's never meant to cause at least half a dozen times.

Eggsy's not gonna lie, he's always ignored this part and walked straight back to bed to toss and turn for the rest of the night until he wakes up feeling a little more worthless. Been there, dreamt that.

It hurts least that way.

Harry turns to him and he's... stopped talking. The side of his face is lit in lamp light, and Eggsy - maybe he could go with the tide, this once.

"Are you going to shoot me," Harry says, face so carefully blank, "Eggsy?"

He sets down his gun with trembling hands.

When he steels himself to look back up Harry face practically spells "you're probably irate as fuck and this isn't the way I meant to do this at all" and Eggsy would understand, he _would_ if he wasn't being so goddamn pissed off; the relief is almost unbearable, ripping the weight off his shoulders after one whole year, it's been a goddamn _year_ -

"Eggsy, if you would - "

He can barely stand straight. "Nope - no _fucking_ way, you utter fuck, you do _not_ get to turn your pompous ass the fuck up after leaving me - _hanging_ \- "

Harry makes to move towards him, says, "Calm, now, and listen to me."

Eggsy almosts laughs, and he might be going mad. Grown up or not, he has every single fucking right to be mad. "Absolutely not."

"Temper." Harry chuckles rather darkly, and glances off. "I should've known you'd take after your father."

"You don't know shit about - " and he shuts up because that's stupid. Harry knew his father. Eggsy didn't. Not really. But Harry wouldn't know about growing up without one, a _real_ father, and he is about to start again and point this out when Harry looks him dead in the eye and says, "Perhaps I did, once."

Okay, that's stupid too. He's getting absolutely nowhere with this conversation. But Harry just can't bloody turn out of nowhere and start reminiscing _in Eggsy's fucking face._ That's - that's just rude. It makes him so fucking mad he wants to cry. Also, he's allowed to cry because yes, he's a trained agent but this is fucking ridiculous. _In his fucking h_ _ouse._

Harry steps forward and Eggsy just wants to tell him to shove off. This is exactly like most of his secular, reoccuring dreams where Harry comes back to him and then doesn't. He can never tell.

Sometime around he's going to wake up and feel better than this, because his tears will have already been soaked into the pillowcase. He closes his eyes. And _waits._

But he can sense Harry come closer, still. "Eggsy."

" _God,_ " Eggsy is on the verge of needing to puke, and he is also torn between the urge to down the rest of his own expensive vodka bottle under his desk and wanting to bawl his eyes out, but none of that's going to happen. "I almost sold your things!"

Harry opens his mouth to respond but Eggsy is certainly _not_ quite the fuck done. "You - you just left - and I didn't - you didn't - "

And the part when Eggsy sinks to the ground is pathetic and should never be spoken of ever again, him, a proper _Kingsman, god_. How did he even get here. He stares at the floor and tries to make sense of things without flinging his arms round. Harry sits down with him, and Eggsy wants nothing more than to reach out, to touch his face. But he doesn't.

He can't quite catch his own voice as he talks. "Where - how. Just - why not sooner?"

"It was dangerous." Harry informs him. "For all of you." Yeah, no shit, but they're fucking _Kingsmen_ , it doesn't get much more dangerous, does it?

"You were never supposed to die," he rasps, _on_ __me__ _ _. You were supposed to come back__. "I didn't even say - " Sorry. Nope, done that. He can't even finish any of his sentences, _and he's not even drunk._

What should he even be sorry for? Okay, but get this: he's a fucking huge softie who can't kill innocent lives for shit. That's pretty solid logic to him. For Mary's sake, why does _everyone_ have to be _such_ a dick about him not shooting his dog? Why does he even feel guilty at all? Why didn't Harry approve of him? Does Harry approve of him now? And if not, why did Harry come back if he doesn't even approve of him? Shouldn't it be Eggsy who's supposed to be pissed? _And why isn't he fucking pissed?_

When it's clear Eggsy will not make any further effort to clarify, Harry speaks. He is full of caution, approaching capricious waters, but there is something else in his eyes. "I recall that you have."

"I - " He hasn't told Harry other things (indecent, traitorous thoughts, staying awake in bed, the red, red robe in his sheets). He _wants_ to. But not - he can't do it. Not yet.

" - not the apologies," he says, defeated, frustrated, and Harry -

\- he has no fucking idea how Harry feels.

He doesn't get up until Harry leaves. It's just like eighteen years ago, when he was that chubby, little lad named Eggsy who knows nothing of the world, and perhaps he doesn't know enough after all. His dad's dead, he's sitting on the floor, and Harry's leaving all over again.

This is looking to be some sort of second chance, but a piss poor one at that. Eggsy wants to snort at how things came around. He can feel a tear run down his cheek.

He's never gonna get to say it, is he?

-

In between the time Harry pops back into his life (or rather, skimmed back into his life) and the time he's spent hyperventilating and trying not to cry, he's come to terms that Harry is just plain unbelievable. Harry's alive. He might've dreamt it but he's pretty sure Harry's alive, and even though Eggsy hates him for waiting to come back to them, he'd hand-picked and renewed Eggsy from the darkest depths of hell and Eggsy should probably thank him and maybe kiss the life out of him (ugh, choice of _words_ ), but he probably still thinks Eggsy's a right loser who just dresses better and knows how to drink proper, because of _him._

He doesn't even get around to fixing this - _thing_ between them, because when he'd gathered the last shreds of his courage and decency and raced out the doorway to do just that, Harry was gone, faded away like he wasn't even there.

No one can blame him for acting like a prick, though, because these back-from-the-dead reunions work way better off in movies.

He doesn't even know what he had wanted to say.

Not long after, Merlin calls him in ( _calls_ ; there _has_ to be some other cool, tongue-twisting, Kingsman verb for this) and says, "You need to come in, _now_ _._ "

When he does come in everyone's - wait. Nobody's here; Merlin is a dick.

"Why the _fuck_ did you call me?" Eggsy does _not_ pout, he is a grown-arse man who definitely has self-control and definitely does _not_ have conflicting feelings for his goddamn mentor who is pretty much goddamn _alive_. Stop that. He checks his glasses and yep, just them.

Merlin tuts. "Language."

"What the fuck, Merlin." Everything in him is worn down so thin, and Eggsy refrains, barely, from running a hand over his tired, tired eyes, and regains his composure just for the sake of what's left of his pride.

"Eggsy."

" _Yes._ "

"You are aware of the consequences of the violations in this organization, yes?"

Eggsy doesn't freeze yet. It's impossible he found out about this so soon.

"Quite so, Merlin...?"

"One of them includes keeping integral information from fellow agents and colleagues."

To his surprise a laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it. It sounds strange to his ears. He isn't sure what it should sound like anymore.

"Uh-huh." He pauses, fighting the sweat about to break out on his forehead. A really tense moment passes. "If I may ask - what brought this on, Merlin?"

And Merlin just lets out a breath, and says, "I do hope you're not this miserable at lying, Eggsy," and perhaps there's a tiny gleam of relief in his tone, just so, and if Eggsy wasn't being so paranoid nor looking for it he would never have noticed. "It'll affect your performance."

Eggsy's not gonna ask how, because he should've known better by now. The whole bloody lot of them. "Who says I was?"

"Eye contact," and he looks up at Merlin sheepishly; how did he miss that? "There's been progress on our men. You'll be receiving further details of the mission," Merlin turns away, smiles behind his glasses. "You're dismissed, Eggsy."

"That's it?"

"Got you here didn't it?"

-

Eggsy doesn't expect to see Harry anytime soon. He trusts Harry, to come in when he's ready.

But that does not stop him from looking round every time someone in a really posh suit strolls by (oh fuck, who even wears that color?) and nothing convinces him that Harry is, in fact, not back.

He _really_ doesn't know why he thinks Harry will come back.

He's sitting at a new one in town on his day off, trying out the special they have. He's been here twice already. The owner's a nice young lady with auburn hair. Her grandmum came out to take his order once, and he, with all his charm, had kissed her hand and made her blush.

(Noticing the girl emerging with a platter, he'd sent her a wink. She hadn't even paused as she set down the cookies. Right. Birds, then.)

As he walks out the back door he immediately knows he chose the _fucking wrong way_. There is a trailer parked near the alley wall, and the same guys are standing by the car hood, smoking fags. Merlin had sent him a picture of the men tossing another victim from that same pub in _that same vehicle._  If it's their purpose, he _really_ hopes they're here to pick him up alone.

He reaches for his watch, his tie bar, his fucking glasses, _anything_ , then it hits him that he never thought to bring gadgets, because it is his _fucking day off_. He only has his ring. They turn to him and he remembers their guns. The alley is tight. It's too late to run.

He grabs his cap and tosses it in the biggest one's face, ducks a punch, and shocks one in the face, sweeps and elbows. He wraps his arms around one's knees and dangles around. If only they'd get out their -

The back door opens and the girl peers her head out.

"No, no!" He waves at her to _get back_. In his distraction the big guy grabs his arm mid-wave, and he tries to yank it back. "Molly, get out of here!"

She gasps as he reaches out his free hand and tosses his baseball cap inside, lightning-quick. He struggles with the guy and charges, rolling them to the ground. The guy who hasn't been shocked runs to the door, trying it, but it's locked. Clever girl. He hopes she's gotten out.

The grip hasn't lessened, and before Eggsy can get in another blow the guy drags him up and pins him to the hood of the car. He kicks and squirms, and even a hit to the knee doesn't do much. A gun clicks to his head. Fuck.

"Get him to the boss," the man growls. "He'd love a piece."

-

They've tied his hands behind his back, but they haven't sedated him ("shit, we ran out, get in the back with him!") so Eggsy's managed to knock the guy out and set his phone on GPS; bloody bastard woke up and crushed it. Fuck. Points for effort. He quietly fishes through the bits in the dark and activates the SIM card.

The road's awfully bumpy, and Eggsy pisses off his captors at least thrice (that he could hear) before they arrive at a building in the middle of nowhere, the man pushing at his back with his reassembled gun (whoops), and Eggsy is marched inside.

It's not a pretty sight.

Men and women, sighting nearing a hundred in total, knocked up and shaking to the bone. Those who aren't have already passed out. He can only guess the chemicals forced on them. Some are being led outside, getting in cars which take them to god knows where.

He's led to a room at the end of the second floor. Somebody ties him to a wooden chair while another informs the rest. He really wants to be left alone, so he can think. This room is fucking cold and the dampness is crawling into his fucking skin.

A man walks inside with even more henchmen, and fuck this shit already.

"Look at what we have here!" The man says leisurely, stroking his chin. Reminds Eggsy of that TV announcer from the Hunger Games, but with a really fucking long nose. "If I recall," he turns to the trio, "this is the young man you'd seen just this last week, isn't it?"

They respond with a "yes, sir". Long-Nose turns back, and Eggsy knows that expression from desperate times and back alleys. "And a fine thing he is, too."

He strides around, perfume clogging Eggsy's senses. "I would very much like to know the whats, whos, and whys."

"I was, unfortunately, at the wrong place in the wrong time."

"Oh, really," Long-Nose sniggers. "Quite a pleasant surprise, wasn't it, gentlemen?" Eggsy barely suppresses the eyeroll. So those guys weren't even there for him. Maybe their car had broken down or something. Wow. Unbelievable.

"Should've left me alone," Eggsy tries. "There were, what already, fifty? seventy? a hundred?" He pretends to struggle to hide undoing his bonds. "Where do you even find these poor souls?"

"You shouldn't worry," the man says. "We don't like to settle. Even if this eventually doesn't work out, which it will, I'm sure," he smiles, "we still have the old - recruits, if you will." He leans in with admiration. "And one more fine thing like you couldn't possibly hurt."

"So you sell drugs _and_ people?" Eggsy probes. "Can't even think of anyone who wouldn't want to report you."

Long-Nose unbuttons Eggsy's shirt. He can only watch. "Tsk. But you must know that there are many people out there who like it enough to shut up about it."

"And what if," Eggsy muses, "they don't, and they do report? I suppose you shut them up yourself?"

"Oh, you're not that dim-witted," Long-Nose says. "They really do love it. A cocky rentboy should know. Isn't that why they chose you? Because everyone wants to fuck you?"

It's only an assumption, but Eggsy guesses, with a face like his it's the closest damn thing everyone's ever going to get.

"But yes, I do shut them up." He brings out his gun and shoots in Eggsy's side. Eggsy takes a sharp breath and doesn't yell. Not vital, just erring on the side of _fuck you._ He's getting impatient. "Like this." He trails the gun down Eggsy's throat. "Now, it's been a lovely chat with a young, pale thing like you, but tell me," he leans close, "who paid you?"

Eggsy grits his teeth and breathes harder through his nose. "I don't get _paid_." He can see a red spot spreading on his shirt now, even as he makes himself turn away from it and look his captor in the eye. He hasn't been shot at much.

"Well then," the man looks thoughtful, and smirks. "I could be your first customer, hm?" Dark eyes rake the exposed skin under his shirt, and Eggsy watches, alarmed.

He's lost the end of the string bonding his hands. Rough fingers crawl down his chest. "Of course, you could tell me all about it later." Eggsy desperarely tries his ankles. He's only ever been paid before, before this, before -

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" The man's movements have turned forceful, ripping his trousers open and Eggsy whimpers and strains against the ropes, _please for the love of fuck_ _don't_. "Bet no one's ever given to you good before," and he shoves in and squeezes Eggsy _hard_ and it takes everything in him not to cry out in pain. "Bet you'd lie here and take it like - "

There are several gunshots from outdoors.

"Fuck!" The walkie-talkie blares from one of the men's belts. "Calling all - " and cuts into whining.

"The hell?" The man releases his grip on Eggsy. "Who the fuck? I thought you said Marcus had this shit!"

"They're nearing, sir," one of the guys says. There's shouting outside, and Eggsy can only hope, as the static crackles their radio transceivers and the men ready their guns.

"The fuck are you waiting for?" Long-Nose shrieks, and Eggsy tries not to flinch at his voice. "Knock him out, get the hell out of here!"

Ignoring his pain Eggsy throws his body backwards, hoping to break the chair, but he's stopped by two men holding him down. One steps round with a syringe. Oh, _fuck him_ -

"Just your luck, boy," he snarls in Eggsy's face. "I guess you'll have to learn from the business." And he's gone.

The smaller man gets tired of his struggling and punches his gut. He doesn't give in. They hit again as the cap is popped, and again, and again and again -

"Oh, fuck this," one of them says, and swings his gun into Eggsy's head.

-

He comes to alone in the dark.

It doesn't register at first. Everything he sees or hears is either doubled or echoed, and it's wearing him out, mind you, filtering information non-stop and still not being able to process the things around him.

He lies there shuddering for god knows how long, and doesn't bother to check himself, let alone get up (his tailbone probably went hours ago, not like he _needs_ it or anything). He gradually makes out the glistening perimeter of a rectangle, far off. The door is there, then he blinks and suddenly it isn't. The frame's empty and the white light trickling in is blocked. He's positively fucked.

"Man, 's trippy, innit?" The shadows are running to him and when he _really_ looks at them they really do look like Harry. Maybe lots of Harrys. Lots of Harrys meant he _really_ made a hash of things. Hah. Not like Harry would come looking, though. "Thing's wicked. The fuck d' you guys put in this stuff?" He curls into himself, bracing. His side is so wet. Oh, shit, it's dripping as well.

"Good lord, Eggsy," he hears. Someone cups his face. "Merlin, I've found him. Get medical on standby." His feet are cold. Is he naked? "Eggsy, can you hear me?" Who the fuck - "Eggsy. Eggsy, it's Harry."

"Oh?" He's surprised and sobers up a bit. It's like there's an undelirious version of him in the corner watching him come down from his high. It's getting hard to breathe. "Thought you were s'posed t' check in first," he slurs, "'cos this is _my_ mission." And he giggles, _why is he giggling?_ His head fucking _hurts._

Harry looks extremely unamused. He waves a finger (or is it four? nope, it's definitely three) between Eggsy's eyes, and Eggsy squints, following the movement. It makes him queasy, makes him suck in a breath and shiver. It's cold. "I'm sure you were doing quite a fine job," Harry presses his bare stomach, prodding, once, twice, _ow,_ "under the circumstances." He props Eggsy up against him, and he's _warm._ Something is draped over his shoulders.

Eggsy breathes in, deeply. "They've drugged me," he murmurs, trying to break his stupor. "The others?"

"They're safe," Harry tells him, voice fond with disbelief. "Merlin took care of the rest."

"Sorry y' had to see me like this," Eggsy turns his head into the warmth of Harry's suit, his neck, his presence. His wound's being patched up. He wonders if he's dreaming again. He has to get used to Harry being back. "Fucked up again, din' I."

He also wonders if he's hearing angry, rapid footsteps in the distance, and winces. He feels Harry tense. Harry's words are clipped when he murmurs, "You are quite the package, Eggsy, but anything could've always happened."

Eggsy tries to get up and maybe take out a couple guards, but he's slipping, and only manages to fall out of Harry's arms before Harry tugs him upright and uses his free hand to open that goddamn umbrella of his. "Ye, but still. Fucked up lots o' times." He has the scars he can prove to Harry right now. He wants to help, he really does. Harry's here, he's  _back_ and Eggsy just can't shut the fuck up. "You weren't there. I fucked up lots when you weren't there."

He's affirmatively out of it at this point, but he swears the arms around him embrace just a fraction tighter, as if in saying sorry or not, he doesn't know. A kiss is dropped on his forehead, light and feathery, even though the fingers clutching his pulse shake ever so slightly. "Go to sleep, Eggsy."

Through his bleariness and the transparent fabric he gets a nice view of large, bulky figures about to barge into what's left of the doorway, and he certainly does _not_ whimper. But Harry gently places him on the ground behind the safety of the umbrella, slips away from him, to finish the business.

It's the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.

-

In between watching Harry die multiple times in high definition quality (wow, his brain is a first class _dick_ ) and waking up, which he has a feeling he's about to do soon, he has a funny dream about two men coming to see him in his grave. It's his. He can see his name on it. Is he dead? Maybe it's his dad. And Harry. He isn't sure, everything is opaque, sheened with thick layers of glass. Except he isn't in his grave. He's standing three tombstones away, watching them converse solemnly with their heads bowed down. His dad's face is blurred, smudged like paint on a forgotten palette. He wants to walk up to them and hug his dad, if it's him, because in his dreams he still misses his dad, and maybe punch Harry, because he is a downright sod. But he finds it difficult to move, so he doesn't. He does squirm, though, because he can't quite hear what they're saying.

"...only too many secrets he can take before he forgets how to trust people - "

" - couldn't have kept it from us forever, Harry."

"I suppose so." There's a pause, then, faintly, "It could've been better."

"Pardon me French, but that is bullshit. You could've come back in a bodybag. This was totes best."

"I would never have left him, Merlin. He doesn't... take well to my reappearance as I would've liked."

"Yes, well, I do hate breaking this to you, but me neither. You should've come back ages ago, mate. Earlier. Save some of his emotional distress." The accent does sound more like Merlin, which makes sense, because he can't even remember his dad's voice. "You know something, Harry? You've been a complete and utter idiot, so if you are going to do - _something_ about it, do it now."

Do _what?_

It's easier to move now. He lifts a finger, testing. And another.

And there's a moment of silence before he hears, "Merlin, get the doctor."

He feels like drifting off, yet again, but it's getting brighter. There is a faint beeping sound in the distance. He opens his eyes with some effort, and suddenly people are swarming round like he's the next discount sale. It makes him dizzy. Eventually the bed is cleared. He takes a mo to take in everything. Wow, he can _breathe._ That's nice. Everything's pastel-ish and fuzzy. Not nice. He wonders how long it'll take before everything's bold and crisp again, before he can get rid of the technicolor sparks blotted on his vision.

"Sit up, agent," someone is lifting him upright, "there we go. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir, yes sir," and someone pulls at his eyelids, waves a flashlight in his eyesight. "Do I not look intoxicated enough f' you? Because lemme tell you folks that I still feel pretty intoxicated." There's a snort from the fellow checking him up.

He's asked questions, and he represses every need to swear down to the pits. "He's fine alright. Give some time to flush the thing out of him completely, might take a full day at most. Just need to be mindful of the ribs, yeah?"

"Thanks, doc," and what do you know? It's Merlin! "How do you feel, Eggsy?"

"Peachy, Merlin," and he can see Harry perched in a chair at the foot of the bed. "Were you guys talkin' 'bout me? God, I smell like the fuckin' dumps. And dope. Harry, don't look so glum. Fucking _figures_. I'm sorry you had to save my sorry arse." And on his first _year_ , god, how many more times in his career _will_ Harry need to save his sorry arse?

Merlin leans in, and _again_ with the whispering, does he have a fetish? "He's been sitting here for a considerable amount of time. I reckon it's safe to assume he's _worried._ "

Harry sighs. "It's rather ungentlemanly to speak of others while present in the same room, Merlin."

"What?" Eggsy blinks. Merlin walks round to get some water. "How long was I down - I mean, out?"

"Nineteen hours, precisely. Probably just the drugs."

The water shakes and spills on the covers when he takes it. He almost swears. "Need I go into rehab?"

"That will come later, I'm afraid," Merlin intones dryly, like Eggsy was the one who got into this, and pats his shoulder. "Get some rest." His smile is rueful when he looks up between Eggsy and Harry. "I did my catching up, Eggsy. It appears you two have a lot more to do." And with that he walks out the room.

And god, what does he do now?

"You never did take me to see Pretty Woman."

And Harry lips turn up a bit, and he chuckles and Eggsy could listen to that all day, and it has absolutely nothing to do with this conversation because he is still drugged. "I promise you, we will get to that."

Eggsy closes his eyes and longs, wishes it could always feel, could always _be_ this easy to just push Harry away, and thinks he can be just a bit more of a dick today, if they're going to talk about this. "We could've, sooner."

"Eggsy," Harry starts, and in one cruel moment Eggsy thinks if Harry were someone less, he might as well be pleading on the verge of tears. "I could never make it up to you."

"You're fuckin' right you couldn't," Eggsy fires, but the fight has gone out of him long since. He's so tired. Harry looks worn and old, and if he's percieved correctly maybe guilt actually does eat you out, because it really does seem like it's taking its toll on Harry.

He gives in and sighs. "I'm sorry I flipped the fuck out."

"Nonsense," Harry says, but his voice suggests otherwise. Eggsy might have been offended. "You had every right to be upset." Harry gets up and sits on the chair next to his bed.

Eggsy watches him. "But you did come back."

He doesn't dare think if Harry had come back for him, and only him, alone.

Harry smiles, grimly, the lines on his face clearly pronounced in the dim light, and it's only now that Eggsy notices he's taken off his glasses. "I was expected to do so, but when I did turn up, you were missing."

"There were people," Eggsy blurts out. "Nice folks. They saw," and he knew Harry'd figure the rest out. He swallows the lump in his throat.

He _hated_ letting Harry down.

"I didn't know." He shuts his eyes. Kingsmen don't cry. After everything he's been through. They don't.

Harry says "Oh, Eggsy," and takes his hand.

Eggsy's eyes fly wide right back open.

"They're alright," Harry says. "The woman called the number on your cap, so we were alerted."

"Ah, thank god," Eggsy sags. "They make a bloody mean shepherd's pie. You should try it."

Harry's still holding his hand.

"Harry?"

Harry looks away for a really long time before he continues. "Eggsy, did they do anything to you?"

"Wh- " He can't look at Harry. "I wouldn't be sitting 'ere, would I?"

Harry's silence is lethal.

In another world, the rebuff would slip home fucking free.

So he says, "He touched me," and for a moment he lets the words sink in, and says, quietly, "'s not like 'm not used t' it."

And he can't stand it, Harry looking at him like he was something worth protecting, or he deserved better. He's not, and he doesn't. "I would never think less of you."

Eggsy would believe that himself, he would. In time. Instead he asks, "Have you...?"

"It was a while ago." Harry nods, accepting. It's almost like he's used to it, the depths of mankind, and Eggsy wonders just how one can carry so much, under an appearance like his. "It comes with the work."

"But not the job description?" Eggsy scoffs. "Hardly seems fair." And he leaves it at that. He's seen a lot on his own.

"Would you care to know their names?"

"Aw hell no," Eggsy groans. He's missed this so fucking bad.

The fact that Harry looks like he's avoiding the biggest fucking elephant in the room, well, that he can do without.

A moment passes, and before Eggsy can open his mouth Harry says, rather hurriedly, "You're not upset?"

Eggsy frowns. "W' sure I am, love!" His tone is unintentionally sarcastic. He's pretty sure emotions can't actually flash through the eyes, but Harry proves him wrong. "But I ain't complaining. You don't even look... " He trails off.

"Wounded?" Eggsy can only think of how shockingly similar he is to Harry, as Harry flashes his teeth darkly. "Being prepared doesn't hurt. But leaving the ones - "

" - you love behind?" The words escape him before he can take it back. Once upon a time, he'd been full of hope, and he's not sure he could afford to do it again.

Harry falters, as if he was going to slip, and Eggsy doesn't breathe. _It_ _hurts doesn't it,_ _leaving?_ _But staying behind_ -

He can't remember crawling into Harry's lap, Harry's fingers combing his hair, his grip tighter than life. Harry pulls him close, whispers "I'm sorry" over and over, and Eggsy can't think of what could've been, couldn't have been and back again, because Harry is here now.

"I missed you every night." Harry murmurs, and it sounds like a confession.

And he's remembered of never responding to his knighted title and how he doesn't deserve it but keeps waiting for someone to reclaim it. Of how he is and always just Eggsy, and even on missions he lets no one calls him otherwise. Of proving himself to a ghost, of memory triggers he never expects but wills himself to remember every single one, of hoping and being let down but he reckons he still _believes_ after all, after all this time, the red, _red robe in his sheets -_

And after all these sappy movies he'd watched and dreamt about, for a trained agent, he really should've seen it coming.

"Eggsy, you should know that I love you." Harry moves his thumb ever so slowly over his knuckles, like Eggsy is the most fragile thing. "With all my heart." And looking into his eyes, god help him, Eggsy does too.

Harry presses his forehead to Eggsy's, and he can't help closing his eyes. Eggsy grips his hand like letting go will make him fade away. "Yeah. Me too."

There's a pause before Harry says, "Look, I can't promise you - "

"Mate," Eggsy cuts him off, "neither can I."

The clock beeps one in the afternoon.

And in the silence they've created, Harry breaks it. "Come home with me."

So he does.

-

Eggsy rushes downstairs where Harry has already finished his breakfast, and even he can tell that Harry's slept in late, even by Harry standards. There hasn't been time to make breakfast. Harry must've had instant oatmeal or some shit. Ugh. Someday he'll get to making proper meals. "Mornin', Harry."

"Good morning, Eggsy."

He rummages the cupboard, keeping the fridge open with his foot. "Did Merlin arrange for a meeting?"

"Fortunately, no," Eggsy grabs the milk and sits down. "I would've woken you up for that." Harry folds back the paper. "He's thinking of appointing me as Arthur, now that I'm cleared for work again. I honestly don't know why. I wonder if the word has gotten around?"

"Oi, no matter what, you better tell Roxy yourself or I'mma punch your smug fuckin' face and not even think 'bout avoidin' nose 'n teeth," Eggsy says through his cereal. He's running late again, and it's the only thing he'd left at Harry's place.

Harry smiles. "Alright." Eggsy finds his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. "Alright."

He could wake up to this every single day.

They dress up and behind him Harry says something about less muscle and new suits.

Leaning on the windowsill on one foot, Eggsy says, "Oh, I dunno, Harry. You're still fit as fuck." Socks on his feet, he steps out of sunlight and finds Harry staring. "Something 'bout me?"

He watches Harry shake his head. "You've your father's eyes."

And Eggsy's read at least  _some_ fanfiction and __oh my god__ _ _, this is__ _completely_ __fucked up.__ But Harry's fingers are brushing his chin, and he leans in and pecks a kiss right on the corner of Eggsy's lip and says, "We should get going."

Eggsy blinks. Goddamn his stupid bottled up emotions because he's pretty fucking sure even a girl wouldn't shed tears that easily when she realizes somebody really, truly cares for her.

And he realizes Harry's still standing there stroking his face, and Harry isn't stupid and Eggsy hopes it's all there in his eyes, his _father's_ eyes, oh god, and Harry will - what - what if he doesn't actually love -

"Eggsy?"

"Don't go," he blurts, and _ugh_ way to go Eggsy. You're a champ Eggsy. You are fucking _trained_. Wow.

But Harry just takes his hand, kisses his head, says, "Never again."

It's a start.

-

"So, I heard you boys got it on," Roxy says out of the blue, and _what the fuck?_ Eggsy silently blesses his training for managing to swallow his pricey mouthful of Starbucks instead of just spitting it on the sidewalk (wouldn't that be a waste) and turns, horrified. " _What?_ "

And Roxy just _keeps sipping her drink whilst staring him down to earth._ Women are terrifying and should not be fucked with. "You heard me."

"How did - "

"So you did, then," and she looks up from licking at the cream and _grins so deviously_ Eggsy would've just smacked her on the head if they were just _the_ best of friends and not super-spy, professional, well-mannered and well-behaved best of friends. "I knew it."

"I have to sign up on another interrogation course," Eggsy scowls, and drains the rest of his hot chocolate. God knows he's had his fair share of Earl Grey and scotch and martinis; this is one of the few, simple luxuries he can afford to spend on ever since he was young. He feels like a kid again.

"So how was it?"

"Swear to god, Rox, if you make me yosh one drop of chocolate - "

"No, Eggsy," Roxy catches his hand and squeezes so he's looking at her, and in that moment he's never been so content in his entire life. "I'm _happy_ for you."

_Yeah,_ he thinks. _Me too._

"God, I sound like somebody's grandmum," she says, and laughs, and Eggsy puts his arm round her shoulder and laughs with her.

It's definitely a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Gods. This fucking movie. I _beg_ you to brit-pick this.  
>  Seeing this movie before finals was a mISTAKE. I wanted to write but I had to study but when I tried to study these two fuckers in love got stuck in my head and, well. It's a vicious cycle. After almost two months it's finally done.  
> Also, the French is from [this song.](http://youtu.be/mi6j48HOLBI)  
> As always, thanks for reading, lots of love!  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.otp-dilemma.tumblr.com)


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